Makima

Outside the interrogation room, the officer watching through the one-way glass shook his head at the slightly older member beside him.

"Well? Lost the bet?" The older member seemed to have expected it. He said quietly:

"One look tells you he's another of those lunatics from the Jashinist Cult. Those evil doctrines fried their brains long ago. Pain and fear barely work on them."

"If you want a tough nut like that to talk, brutality alone won't cut it. This rookie still needs more seasoning and experience."

As the two spoke in hushed voices, the crisp click of high heels approached, ringing out distinctly in the silent corridor.

They immediately stopped talking, spun around, and stood at attention to salute. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, their awe unmistakable.

The newcomer was a tall, shapely woman in a neatly tailored dark uniform, its front open to reveal a tight white top underneath.

She had short, tidy orange hair and wore goggles that covered half her face. An inscrutable hint of a smile curved her lips.

Most striking of all was the eerie air she exuded—a blend of languor, danger, and absolute rationality.

"What were you talking about?" Her voice was calm, even slightly languid, yet it instantly put both veteran members on edge.

The officer immediately answered with deference, "Reporting, Group Leader Makima! Nothing much. We were just assessing a rookie's interrogation performance."

Makima looked through the one-way glass, glancing at Yuri, who was still trying in vain inside the interrogation room, and Ishida Akira, who kept repeating the same words despite being covered in wounds.

The mysterious curve of her lips seemed to deepen.

"A follower of the Jashinist Cult!" she murmured, as though savoring something. "That does call for some more 'special' methods."

Her arrival was like a cold,